Divan Diving

Well, another graduation season came and went without me being invited to speak at commencement ceremonies. I didn’t expect to get a call from Harvard, Yale, or Notre Dame, but I was looking forward to sharing one of my famous motivational messages with students and parents from a smaller institute of learning, such as The Academy of Spoiled Rotten Brats.

After all, Perry served as keynote speaker at The College of Jewish Curmudgeons, Rochelle addressed the graduating seniors at Cake Decorators Anonymous, and Kent presented balloon-animal diplomas to those receiving doctorates from the Kansas Clown Academy. I suppose I’m in good company though. Bill Cosby wasn’t invited to speak this year either.

If you’re new to Friday Flash Fiction, the valedictorian of our weekly addiction is Nadia Cakestein Wisoff-Fields. If you’d like to participate in this exercise in madness, head over to her blog for step-by-step instructions. To view the FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.

copyright - Douglas MacIlroy
copyright – Douglas MacIlroy

Dear Diary,

Uncle Doug stayed with us today while Mommy and Daddy went to the Parent Teacher conference. He took me and Sissy on a treasure hunt.

“You gotta dive deep if you wanna get the good stuff,” says Uncle Doug. He put on a big helmet and told us to pull all the cushions off the couch. Then, he dove in with nothing but his feet sticking out. Sissy got scared.

He came out with a fist full of coins and a black disk he calls a 45. Next week, he’s taking us to the dumpster behind Toys R Us.

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36 thoughts on “Divan Diving

  1. Lucky kids, learning life skills from a pro. I bet Uncle Doug can find 1/2 a cigarette butt in a sewer drain with the best of them. I watched a street gypsy in Granada, Spain meticulously reuse the remains of found cigarette butts to mix with her dwindling weed to create a fancy tobacco/weed combo. It was fascinating and resourceful. Oh and I liked your flash fiction.

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    1. I made some half & half cigarettes to enjoy in the smoking area (no such thing these days) at high school when I was a senior. No one was the wiser and it certainly made my next period class more fun. As I recall, they invited Cheech and Chong to speak at our commencement ceremony.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Guess what I found buried deep within my sofa cushions? An old girlfriend! I thought she’d dumped me! However I wasn’t wrong; once I revived her she did dump me and she took all that change with her too. And it’s The College of Jewish Youngmudgeons. Get it right!

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  3. Dear Bubba,

    One has to be on their guard with Uncle Doug and his black disc. Nothing like dumpster diving to get your stink on. Perhaps you heard my address to Cake Decorators Anonymous. I really spread it on thick. 😉

    Shalom,

    Nadia

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    1. Dear Nadia,
      I did hear your address. It was not only sweet, but colorful as well. I especially enjoyed your 12 Step program on how to become addicted to the use of purple icing.

      Uncle Doug seems to carry a disk with him everywhere he goes. I do wish he’d come visit again. I miss that old fart.

      Bubba

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Yes, I agree. And couches are the perfect training ground. Unfortunately, there is usually some nasty, two-year-old petrified food pieces in there also. A helmet and gloves is a good idea.

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  4. Hilarious, Russell. Removing the cushions would be my limit. I won’t dive further than that. I’ve watched so many CSI programs on TV I’d be afraid to dumpster dive anymore. Uncle Doug sounds live a fun guy. That’s a good way to supplement his retirement fund. Well done. 😀 — Suzanne

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    1. Are you thinking there might be some murder weapons in there?
      Uncle Doug is a fun guy. Unfortunately, people don’t carry cash like they used to and it’s really cut down on the amount coins you can find in couches and underneath car seats. We used to raid the furniture and the cars and get at least 3 or 4 dollars.

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  5. My grandfather would have loved Uncle Doug. He took me to the dump every Saturday when I was young and still willing to go on such adventures with old men. Those were the days when the dump was just an open pile of everything people didn’t and did want. My grandfather dumped the stuff he went there to dump and then scoured the place for treasures with “The Dump Guy” (aka the Management or the Curator). I stayed in the car, tried not to listen as my grandfather asked how much The Dump Guy would pay for me, and swatted Kamakzi flies. Let’s make America great like that again, eh?

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